


Beating of our Hearts

by sephirothflame



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sephirothflame/pseuds/sephirothflame
Summary: “Ground rules. No stabbing me.”Geraltwinsan Omega bride in a Law of Surprise mishap. Jaskier isn't any more thrilled to be delivered by Destiny than Geralt is to receive him. The Path is no place for a seventeen year old runaway and now Geralt is obligated to find somewhere to deliver him safely.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 718





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** for off-screen, attempted sexual assault and the casual mentions of it. Off screen domestic violence. Canon typical sexism, for made up genders?
> 
> For Max, as always. Even though she's too busy reading Olicity.

“Fuck.”

It’s the only word that comes to mind. The last three days had involved stone golems, a cursed tower, and a young nobleman trying to prove himself and ended with this. This. This, scowly, Omega with his arms crossed over his chest and an angry flush on his face. Geralt had tried to reject the Law of Surprise as soon as it came out of young Lord Aedith’s mouth, but it was too late. He’d made the promise, Geralt dragged him home, and Geralt was thrown head first into this.

_“A relief, really,” Aedith had said, clapping Geralt on the back. “He bit me the last time I tried to bed him. I thought he’d run away for good this time. Was actually quite hopeful of it. Well, he’s yours now, a promise is a promise.”_

Geralt rubs his face and looks around the room Aedith’s family had been happy to give Geralt in exchange for saving their son’s life - though, Geralt suspected, it was more for taking the moody young Omega off their hands. The Law of Surprise was an honorable enough way to get rid of an unwanted marriage. Afterall, who could interfere with destiny? Still, the room was nice. The bed was more than large enough for the two of them and the view over town was something worth looking at.

“Right. Julian.” Geralt says, as the silence drags on.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” the Omega snaps, bristling up immediately. Aedith said he’d been found with a dagger in his doublet and the tenacity to brandish it, barely three towns over. Getting stabbed in his sleep is the last thing Geralt needs.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, correcting himself. To his surprise, the Omega simmers down a bit. His jaw is still a hard line, teeth clenched, but he crosses a leg under his body and doesn’t look ready to flee. “Ground rules. No stabbing me.”

“No promises,” Jaskier mumbles. He doesn’t look away from Geralt’s steely gaze, just juts his chin up further in defiance. Someone never learned how to submit and Geralt finds it as amusing as he does annoying. It’s going to make him difficult to deal with.

Geralt catches Jaskier’s jaw in his hand, intent to give him a good look over. The Omega immediately jerks away from the touch, and Geralt lets him go, startled by the visceral reaction. _Someone has hit him_. Standing closer, guiding Jaskier’s jaw up slowly without ever touching him, Geralt can see the fading blue of a bruise around his eye and cuts on his lips from where he’s bitten them. Geralt doesn’t know how to comfort anyone, let alone an Omega, so he puts his hand on the top of Jaskier’s head and sighs. “Try not to run away until I can get you somewhere safe. There’s places for Omegas in the Northern cities.”

“Where you’ll sell me to a whore house? Joy,” Jaskier says. He has every intention of running away the first chance he gets and Geralt knows it. He wishes he could at least get the Omega somewhere safe, but he has little faith in that.

“You can do whatever you want in the city,” Geralt says. “Do you have a Mark?”

Jaskier jerks his chemise away from his throat and shows Geralt his scent gland, unbitten. If Aedith hadn’t been able to Mark him, there was a good chance Jaskier could find a decent life somewhere far away in one of the cities. Who knows, he could even fall in love. Geralt will be happy to give Jaskier away to the first Alpha who shows no intention of beating him. It’s the least Geralt can do, to get them both out of this awful situation.

“Right,” Geralt says. “No stabbing. No fondling. No… whatever it is you plan on doing when my back is turned.”

The hard look doesn’t leave Jaskier’s eyes but Geralt isn’t worried. He turns away from the Omega to finally strip off his armor. The steam is fading fast from the bath brought to their room, and Geralt has every intention of enjoying the small luxuries while he can. They’ll be back on the road come morning and the next town over won’t be so happy to have a Witcher in their midst. It’s nice, feeling welcome for a change, but Geralt knows better than to get used to it.

He can feel Jaskier’s eyes on him as he strips, sizing him up, and Geralt does his best to ignore him. The Omega’s heart is still rapid, adrenaline thrumming through his veins and scenting the air with acrid anxiety, but he isn’t afraid. Not of Geralt, in any case. Mostly he seems determined to be in a bad mood and Geralt is content to let him be. Nothing about this situation is fair.

“Eat up at dinner,” Geralt says, relaxing in the bath. “We leave in the morning.”

* * *

Dinner is stew and wine, both rich and heavy in Geralt’s stomach. It’ll bring sleep quickly and Geralt is looking forward to at least one good night’s rest before they’re on the road again. He relishes a soft bed and a hearty meal when he gets the chance.

“You’re not having me,” Jaskier says, stripping out of his doublet and glaring when Geralt looks his way. “Aedith tried a half dozen times before he learned his lesson. I just don’t want to sleep on the floor.”

“He mentioned you bit him,” Geralt says as he strips. Jaskier scoffs. “I have no intention of taking you against your will.”

Jaskier’s grin is feral. There’s a knife stolen from the dinner table tucked up under his pillow and for Jaskier’s sake, Geralt pretends he doesn’t know. “Better just stay on your side of the bed.”

Geralt strips to his smallclothes, leaving his swords just in reach under the bed. Jaskier leaves his chemise on, though it does little to hide his body in the warm fire light. He hunches his bony shoulders up and turns his back to Geralt on the bed, curling in on himself. Like he isn’t sure he can trust Geralt’s word enough to relax and get a good night’s sleep.

“How old are you?” Geralt asks, as the fire dies in the hearth and Jaskier’s heartbeat sets in to a normal, safe rhythm. “How many times have you been paired off?”

“Seventeen,” Jaskier murmurs. He shifts under the covers, pulling them tighter to his chin, and he looks every bit the child that he is. Despite it all, he just sounds tired. “This was - is - the fifth time. Fourth time. Stregnor, once. Aedith would have been on attempt number three, if you hadn’t come along. His father is very interested in what the Viscount can do for him.”

Geralt sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. A seventeen year old Omega with a penchant for biting and stabbing people who try to touch him. He’s going to have a hard time finding somewhere safe for Jaskier to stay. He’d take him to Kaer Morhen, but he isn’t sure Vesemir would approve and it wasn’t fair to isolate him in the mountains just because he’d defended himself.

“Fuck,” Geralt says, and Jaskier just hums in tired agreement.

* * *

Jaskier didn’t have many belongings since his privileges were stripped away from him with every attempt he made to flee. A few changes of clothes, a lotion that made Geralt’s nose curl from the pungent floral scent, and a thick bedroll purchased sometime the day before when Aedith and his family realized they would finally be rid of him. No horse, no walking boots, no sense of direction. Geralt was already dreading the journey to the North.

The only thing Jaskier owned that he showed in particular devotion to was a battered lute, checking it over carefully before tucking it in its case before the long ride. So Geralt had _that_ to look forward to.

He didn’t have much experience with Omegas, especially not independent ones, but their best bet was Oxenfurt. The city was liberal enough that Jaskier should be able to find himself a steady living there. He could get an apprenticeship or whatever it is young runaways did when they made it to the city. The problem was, Geralt wasn’t sure if he had time enough to go West to Oxenfurt and doubleback up North to make it to Kaer Morhen for the Winter.

Rinde wouldn’t be too horrible a place to overwinter but Redanians got under Geralt’s skin.

He’s cut short from his thoughts by Jaskier’s irritable voice. “Am I really expected to just _walk_ the entire way?”

“Have you got enough gold for a horse?” Geralt asks. Geralt could probably afford a geldling if he didn’t have to worry about keeping Jaskier in food and clothing, but that would defeat the purpose of a second horse entirely. Better to save the coin they had and just travel slow.

“Some mate you are,” Jaskier says, sniffling. “I’ll have blisters on my feet before lunch.”

“Should have bought better shoes the last time you ran away,” Geralt says, humming. To his surprise, Jaskier laughs. It’s not an unpleasant sound, even if he is still radiating hatred and contempt. 

“Tell me, am I at greater risk of being torn apart in the night traveling with a Witcher, or not?” Jaskier asks. He sounds genuinely curious. “Because I've seen a Ghoul before and frankley, it’s terrifying.” 

“Keep close,” is all Geralt says. He wants to card his fingers through Jaskier’s messy hair, soothe him, but he doesn’t want to be bit. He also can’t pinpoint where the feeling of comfort even came from. Jaskier doesn’t need to be comforted by Geralt, he’d made that clear enough on his own.

They have a long ride ahead of them.

* * *

Jaskier whines. _My feet hurt_ and _I’m hungry_ and _do you even know where we’re going_ , endlessly, on repeat. He starts up about midmorning and he doesn’t stop until they set up camp for the night. Even lunch had barely been a reprieve.

_ (“Where are we going?” _

_ “Oxenfurt. They have places for Omegas there.” _

_ “I don’t want to go to Oxenfurt.” _

_ “Too bad.” _

_ “I’m just going to run away again.” _

_ “Be my guest.”) _

Stretching out his bedroll, Jaskier is asleep almost as soon as his head touches the ground. Geralt lets him sleep while he starts the fire and stretches out his legs. The silence is nice after a day of needless chatter. He hadn’t expected the Omega to be quiet about the whole ordeal, but he certainly hadn’t expected this. So much noise from such a small, feral thing.

Jaskier’s insistence that he didn’t want to go to Oxenfurt and peddled off into a whore house certainly didn’t help matters. Geralt didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to make a match for Jaskier, but surely one of the Omega houses would be thrilled to have him. Healthy, young Omegas of breeding age were harder and harder to come by these days. Surely some pompous, middle-aged poet could use a muse.

Eventually, Geralt kicked Jaskier’s leg until he awoke and offered him dried meat and bread. He’d need something on his stomach, if he planned on surviving the trip. “If not Oxenfurt, where would you go?”

Jaskier yawns and shrugs. He chews slowly, still half asleep, chin resting on his knees as he stares into the fire. “I was accepted into Oxenfurt university’s school of the arts program, before I presented. They don’t take Omegas. Spent the last year trying not to be married off.”

It’s not uncommon for places to not accept Omegas amongst their ranks, but Geralt wouldn’t have thought Oxenfurt to be one of them. They accept women, after all, which is more than the School of the Wolf could say. He took a long drag from his waterskin and watched the flames dance in Jaskier’s eyes. He thought, _this was a time for comfort_ , but he doesn’t know what he should say to Jaskier. Geralt never had aspirations outside of being a Witcher, not that he can remember. He spent most of his life just trying to stay _alive_.

After what seems like an eternity of silence coming from him, Jaskier says, “I’ve not seen the ocean since I was a child and I’d like to climb the Dragon Mountains someday.”

“The dragons are dead,” Geralt says. He doesn’t know what else to say. He understands the simple pleasure of roaming, but it isn’t a cheap or easy life. Seasons change and coin runs short and Jaskier could barely fight off two beta men, how did he expect to deal with a dragon?

Jaskier looks at Geralt, like he was expecting something and it went right over Geralt’s head. Geralt has never been good with subtly. “Are you a eunuch?”

Geralt growls low, more annoyed than insulted. He was made Null by the Trial of the Grasses, long before his body ever figured out how to pop it’s first knot. It existed pleasantly alongside the lack of hormones driving him to _claim, mate, breed_ that Geralt had seen in other, normal Alphas. “Why, need me to cut you?”

To his surprise - and, confusingly enough, something warm and pleasurable deep in his gut - Jaskier just laughs at him tiredly. “I just wanted to know if I need to protect my ass from you as well as brigands and beasties.”

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and it’s not an answer, but it’s enough for Jaskier to stretch his arms far above his head and lay back down. It’s still hours before Geralt’s mind has calmed down enough to do the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I’m not completely helpless on my own, you see. There’s a reason I managed to survive every time I ran away.”_
> 
> Geralt takes on a job while he tries to decide what to do with his Omega Surprise and Jaskier does whatever he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like, I could blame quarantine for this not getting updated, but really it was Animal Crossing. 
> 
> Thank you all for your love and support, I'm going to try to be better. I already have it (mostly) planned out in it's entirety. It's just the writing it part.

Jaskier sleeps through the night and is still there when Geralt wakes in the morning. He groans when he wakes, sore, and stares at Geralt with bleary eyes. He moves with the stiffness of someone unused to sleeping on the hard ground, despite the thickness of his bedroll, and Geralt almost feels bad for propelling him to his feet. The Omega had been right about his feet blistering.

“Have you decided where we’re going?” Jaskier asks. His face is a mask of pain and exhaustion and Geralt is tempted to heft him up on Roach, at least for a few hours. “Or are you content to see how long you can run me ragged before I die?”

“You’d make decent monster bait while you still have your baby fat,” Geralt says, as he finishes loading up their packs. 

“I do  _ not _ have baby fat!” Jaskier says, indignantly. Like Geralt hadn’t seen the softness in his hips and arms when he stripped in front of the fire the other night. “I’m barely going to be jerky by the time you’re done parading me around, long walks with no water.”

“There’s water,” Geralt says. He grabs a canteen and blindly passes it to Jaskier, who drinks eagerly and chokes loudly.

“That’s  _ vodka _ , you beast!” Jaskier sputters.

“Only water safe to drink in Temeria,” Geralt replies idly. He reaches for the canteen, but Jaskier stubbornly takes a long draught before handing it back. Something else he’s going to have to stock up on, next town they make it to. Not that he needs a drunk Omega on his hands, especially not one that’s known to bite. That’s just tempting fate.

Jaskier is still yawning by the time they’re on the road again.

* * *

It’s two days of traveling before they make it to the next village, and Geralt isn’t sure how Jaskier managed to do this on his own. The Omega is constantly whining and asking for breaks, but at least he sleeps through the night. The sound of his soft snoring is starting to be a comforting sound which means Jaskier has long since overstayed his welcome.

There’s a contract for Drowners posted outside the tavern and there is a room with two beds available for payment upstairs. Jaskier immediately throws himself onto one of the stiff mattresses and makes a near pornographic sound in pleasure. “A bed!”

Geralt grunts and drops onto the bed closer to the door. It’ll be a few hours before the sun goes down and the beasts start crawling out of the riverbed. He should take the opportunity to prepare or eat but Geralt doesn’t have the energy for either. “Don’t say I don’t take you nice places.”

“Nice places would include a bath,” Jaskier says. His feet have swollen in his shoes and he smells like the road when he strips down to his underclothes, stretching out on his bed. Geralt had taken a blade to the large blisters that hadn’t burst on their own and done his best to wrap them. “Maybe some bath salts. A nice glass of wine and a charcuterie board...”

He wants to ask where Jaskier is from, but he remembers the Omega saying something about a Viscount and that would explain a lot of Jaskier’s spoiled peculiarities. Wine and charcuterie boards sounded nice, but there weren’t any for Jaskier in Geralt’s future. He still hadn’t decided what to do with the Omega. Geralt kept saying he’d deal with that after he made it to town, but now that he was in town, he wasn’t any closer to the answer.

The problem was, Geralt didn’t just want to throw Jaskier to the wolves. Omegas were uncommon enough that he should fetch a fair price, but Geralt wasn’t in the business of selling Omegas and taking him to a whorehouse would be doing just that. Jaskier might have some independence and freedoms in a brothel he wouldn’t elsewise, but he’d still be selling himself. Still relying on another person for his well being.

Geralt lays back on the bed, not bothering to kick off his boots or armor. Unlike Jaskier, he doesn’t plan on spending the rest of the day in the room. Just a few hours, until the sun goes down. When he can ditch Jaskier for a few hours and do what he’s meant to be doing, what he is trained to do. Geralt wasn’t made for babysitting.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but it’s been a long day.

* * *

Later, he wakes to the soft strumming of a lute. He knows it’s Jaskier, has seen him lugging the thing around for days now, but it’s the first time he’s actually seen - heard - the Omega play the instrument. He’d barely done more than check to see if it had been damaged in their travels before now. To his surprise, Jaskier is actually kind of good at it. It’s relaxing to listen to him play in the quiet of their room.

Geralt doesn’t do more than shift to get comfortable and glance at the window to gauge the time. Not quite sunset.

“You’re out of vodka,” Jaskier says, no apologies for waking Geralt. The canteen is sitting on the bed by his crossed leg, and there’s a pink flush to his cheeks. He’s still just sitting there in his undergarments, strumming away at his lute like this is normal. Like life with Geralt, on the road and in shitty inn rooms, could somehow be normal.

Getting up, Geralt stretches. His fingers find his coin purse almost blindly and he pulls out what’s left - a small handful - and he drops an even smaller portion of that on the bed at Jaskier’s side. He reaches out and touches the top of Jaskier’s head, dirty hair still somehow soft under his fingertips. “Get something to eat. Don’t wait up for me.”

Jaskier swats Geralt’s hand away and scowls, but his reaction to the touch is much less visceral than it was three days ago. His head bows, ever so slightly, before he sticks his chin up and starts plucking at his lute again, louder this time. “Go, Alpha, and provide for your starving Omega. Don’t expect me to lie here warming your bed when you return, though.”

“You’re not starving,” Geralt says. Jaskier had eaten at least twice a day since he’d been in Geralt’s care and it wasn’t his fault if the Omega balked at the sight of him skinning a rabbit. Jaskier was saying things to rile him up, to be obstinate. Geralt had figured out his little game the day they set off together. Mouthy Omegas were harder to part with.

“Well, don’t stay out all night,” Jaskier says, turning his attention back to the lute in his hands. “That’s how you catch the pox.”

Geralt means to say that Witchers are immune to that sort of thing but he doesn’t feel like riling Jaskier up. Besides, they aren’t going to be together long enough for that to be relevant.

* * *

The contract called for the slaying of five Drowners. By the time Geralt is wiping his silver blade clean of their blood, he’s cut down at least a dozen just to keep them off his back. He takes his time gutting them for any useful parts and he tries to tell himself it has nothing to do with distancing himself from Jaskier.

It’s just, Geralt knows how he looks when he’s taken potions. Ashen skin, black eyes, dark veins. Jaskier might be surprisingly well adjusted to being paired off  _ again _ but that’s only because he doesn’t expect Geralt to hurt him. He doesn’t see Geralt for the monster that everyone says he is - and if Geralt returns to their inn room right now, that’s exactly what would happen.

It’s inexplicable but Geralt doesn’t want Jaskier to be afraid of him.

It’s just because they still have to travel together. Geralt is responsible for Jaskier until he can get him somewhere safe. He was dumb enough to agree to the Law of Surprise and now he was responsible for an Omega. Gods, how he wishes he’d scored a hound or some crop he could at least take to Kaer Morhen for the Winter. Taking an Omega home would present its own kind of problems. Like the indication that Geralt planned on  _ keeping _ Jaskier.

The only reason he’d touched Jaskier was to comfort him and the only reason he’d done that is because he was used to the young Omega’s scent. This is exactly the kind of reason the Trial of the Grasses was supposed to Nullify and sterilize him. Geralt couldn’t afford to be distracted by the scent of an Omega, familiar or otherwise.

By the time Geralt runs out of excuses to avoid heading back into town, the potions have mostly started to wear thin. He grabs his trophies and all but throws them at the poor Alderman’s butler. The look he’s given as he’s invited inside is murderous.

“You know, they’re saying it’s going to be a cold Winter,” the Alderman says. He’s dressed for bed and his face is long from exhaustion. He takes his time counting out the golden coins. “The agreement was for  _ five _ Drowners.”

Geralt knew where this was going. He was about to be scammed out of his hard earned money by technicalities and pleas for survival.

“Oh, but my wife saw that dreadful little mate of yours when you rode into town,” the Alderman continues. He hesitates, and counts out another fifty coins. “The least you can do is get him a proper coat while you’re in town. Melitele knows that drunk bastard of a tailor could use the work. Thinks a pretty mink coat for the wife will be enough to promise him my youngest’s hand in marriage…”

Jaskier isn’t his mate, but if it’s going to get Geralt an extra handful of coins to help feed his skinny ass, then Geralt wasn’t going to say a word edgewise. Besides, he probably would need a Winter coat. Dread as he was to admit it, the nights were getting colder and longer and Geralt was running out of time to make a decision.

To admit what his decision was.

“Get out of here, Witcher,” the Alderman says with a yawn. He all but waves his hand dismissively and the butler escorts him back to the front door. The Drowner heads have been left in a pile on the stone outside, like no one was quite sure what to do with them. Finally, something that wasn’t Geralt’s problem anymore.

* * *

Jaskier is in the tavern.

Jaskier is in the tavern, doublet half undone, laying on a table with his lute across his lap. He looks surprisingly clean and nothing like the grumpy, bitter Omega Geralt has been traveling with the last few days. There are fingers running through his air and Geralt can practically feel him oozing confidence from across the room, and it isn’t just the scent of unmated Omega.

It’s enough to make Geralt pause and stare, until he realizes he’s not the only one in the room giving Jaskier their undivided attention. Alphas might be as rare as Omegas, but they weren’t so uncommon that Geralt couldn’t smell their interest in the way Jaskier laughed and wiggled for his audience. The idiot Omega was going to get himself hurt if he wasn’t careful.

“The stories I could tell!” Jaskier practically purrs. “I’m traveling with a Witcher, see, and I’ve seen  _ so many things _ .”

“Jaskier,” Geralt barks. Immediately, the bard sits up on the table and looks towards him. His face is flushed with alcohol and he smells  _ guilty _ . Geralt stares at him and is surprised when the obstinate Omega hops off the table and makes his way across the tavern to Geralt’s side.

“I was just trying to make a few coins,” Jaskier starts. He’s so close Geralt can smell the clean scent of soap on his skin. He’d used the money Geralt had given him on a bath instead of vodka and bread. “Your eyes - “

Geralt looks away from Jaskier and it has nothing to do with not wanting the Omega to see his dark eyes. He heads towards the staircase, away from the noise, and he’s only mildly surprised when Jaskier follows him. “I told you to stay out of trouble.”

“Ah, no,” Jaskier says, elbow brushing Geralt’s. “You told me to get something to eat and to not wait up for you. You never explicitly told me to stay out of trouble. Which, I wasn’t in, in any case. I was just making friends and a few coins. Though, I expect the barkeep expects me to put out with the amount of ale he passed my way…”

The idea of Jaskier having sex with the heavyset barkeep makes Geralt’s blood run and he chooses not to examine why. Instead, he just lets himself into the room and blinks in the dying firelight. The bath is still standing in their room, with minimal dirt in it, all things considered. It smelled like the soap Jaskier had used and the floral lotion he rubbed himself with at night.

“I even got you a sandwich,” Jaskier says. He fetches a folded cloth parcel off of Geralt’s bed and seems delighted that it wasn’t picked apart by rats. “Ham! And some drink. I’m not completely helpless on my own, you see. There’s a reason I managed to survive every time I ran away.”

Jaskier was trying to prove a point. He was capable of taking care of himself. If his family and his betrothed hadn't constantly dragged him back for matings and marriage, he might actually survive on his own for a while. In a city, away from hungry Alphas, where he could bathe and pamper himself and put on a show.

Geralt just sighs and resists the urge to rub at his face. It’s late and he planned to be stocked up and out of town by noon. He had every intention of just going to bed, but well, the bath was lukewarm and it wasn’t that dirty. It had been a long three days on the road, and it was likely to be a longer stretch until they reach the next town.

“Go to bed, Jaskier,” Geralt says, eventually. “And next time I leave you alone,  _ stay out of trouble _ .”

“Is that another rule?” Jaskier asks, flitting just out of Geralt’s reach before he can contemplate swatting at him. He’s already half undressed and in bed before Geralt can think to do more than just grunt at him. “Have you decided where we’re headed yet?”

“Posada,” Geralt says, stripping for the tub. He listens to Jaskier shift in bed and breathe, muttering  _ Posada  _ under his breath like it held some excitement. Geralt had been time and time again, just passing through. Where had his wanderlust gone?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & Kudos are love and feed my soul. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ bentacleporn
> 
> Kudos & Reviews give me life


End file.
